He went to the wheelchair, parked next to the tool bench. It had shackles on it, and was useful for moving people around. An elevator would have been more useful, but Lester was pretty strong and there weren’t many people he couldn’t lift by himself.
Subject 33, however, had to weigh three hundred and fifty pounds. He’d really let himself go since Plincer locked him in that room, years ago. Martin made a mental note to bring him a Nordic Track or something on his next visit. If the fat bastard pulled through.
He wheeled the chair to the doorway and then abruptly stopped.
Something was wrong. He felt it.
Martin turned around, scanning the room. Work bench. Dresser. Peg board. Bed. Trunk.
There, by the trunk.
Martin walked over, bending at the waist to pick up the object on the floor.
“Trying to get away? You naughty girl.”
Chereese’s tanned hide was lying in a pile, like a dropped leather jacket. Martin had put all of his skins away, but somehow had overlooked her. He lifted her up, brushing a piece of rock salt out of her hair, and reverently put her back in the dresser.
Then Martin left the room. He had to walk backwards down the stairs, lest the wheelchair get away from him. Lester hadn’t waited, and had pulled Subject 33 by himself halfway across the cell area. Martin rolled up to him, and they hefted the fat man into the chair.
The lab was on the other side of the cells, through a doorway and at the end of the hall, between Plincer’s bedroom and the kitchen. As expected, the doctor was in the lab, fussing with some test tubes.
“Goodness, what has happened?”
Martin frowned. “He and Lester had a disagreement. So Lester stabbed him in the back.”
Plincer came over, peering close. “So how did he get so fat?”
“Eating too much and lack of exercise.”
Subject 33 groaned.
“Oh dear, we don’t want this one waking up on us. Hold him down.”
Lester placed his hands on Subject 33’s shoulders and leaned on him. Martin stared at Doctor Plincer, clucking like a mother hen while he searched his cabinets for some succinocholine, and wondered how a man so brilliant could be such a space cadet at the same time.
The doctor found the bottle and filled a syringe. By now Subject 33’s eyes were open. He stared up at Lester, projecting hate. Lester projected hate right back. Plincer gave the fat man a shot in the thigh.
“Okay, let’s try to get him up on the table. Face down.”
The three of them heaved, sweated, grunted, and strained, and eventually managed to beach the whale on the stainless steel operating table.
“We’ve got a knife wound four inches right of the L2 vertebra.” Plincer placed his ear to Subject 33’s back. “There’s a pneumothorax. How long was the knife?”
Lester held his fingers apart.
“Possible liver puncture as well. Did you do all of these other cuts as well?” Plincer spread out his hands, indicating the dozens of slices on the fat man’s body.
“Subject 33 was like that when Lester stabbed him.”
“Self-inflicted? Fascinating.” Plincer peered over his glasses at Lester. “You weren’t trying to kill him, were you?”
“Not right away,” Lester said.
“But for heaven’s sake, why try at all?”
“Subject 33 killed the Joe pet.”
“How did he get out of his room?”
Lester shrugged. So did Martin.
“Did you, perhaps, stop and think that maybe someone let him out?”
Martin dug into his pocket. “Lurch here dropped a key in the cell area,” he said, holding it up.
“Not Lurch,” Lester said. “Lester did it.”
Plincer rolled his eyes. “The meeting is in less than an hour. Make sure that everyone is where they’re supposed to be. Including Georgia.”
Martin and Lester both turned to leave.
“Hold it, hold it please. I’m going to need some help re-inflating his lung and sewing him up. Lester, you stay here with me, since you’re the one that did this. Martin, are you sure your wife is contained?”
“I’m sure.”
“Double-check. And as for you, old friend.” Plincer patted Subject 33’s head. “I’m afraid I don’t have time to properly sedate you. You’re going to feel this, but that’s what you get for messing around with another man’s property.”
Lester smiled. Martin sighed, heading back to his room. He was annoyed, and tense.
But he had complete faith that a few minutes with Sara would help relax him.
Sara listened, as hard as she could, but the darkness seemed to clog her ears. Had Martin left? Or was he still there, silently waiting, ready to grab her when she opened the trunk?
I’ll count to a hundred. Then I’ll come out.
She made it to seventeen, then popped out and gasped for air like she’d been underwater, swinging the knife around in case Martin was close.
He wasn’t. The room was empty.
Sara climbed out the trunk on shaky legs. She closed the lid, standing still for a few seconds, trying to get her hyperventilating under control. Now wasn’t a good time to pass out.
When her heart rate slowed a bit, she made her way to the work table and picked up the cordless drill. The bit was thick, four inches long. She squeezed the trigger and it whirred to life. Then she noticed something potentially more interesting.
On the table, in an ashtray, was a key.
It didn’t look like it would open the cells. This was a new key, and those were over a hundred years old, with locks to match. But it couldn’t hurt to hold on to.
Sara took it, and closed the utility knife, sticking both into her pocket. She also took from the bench an ice pick, a hammer, and a hacksaw. She then put down the saw, unable to carry everything at once, and rushed into the hallway, heading for the stairs.
When she was almost there she put on the brakes, noticing another door.
It looked out of place in the castle-type environment, made of silver metal with a bright new doorknob.
Keep going. Save the kids.
But what if there’s some other poor victim in there? What if it’s Georgia?
Sara reached for the doorknob hesitantly, as if she were about to touch a hot stove. She paused.
Yes or no?
Sara palmed the knob and gave it a deft turn.
Locked.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
That was Georgia’s voice.
Sara moved her mouth closer to the door. “Georgia? Are you okay?”
“Sara? Is that you?”
Sara put her hand on the door, leaning against it. “It’s me. Are you okay?”
“I’m scared, Sara.” Georgia’s voice got louder. “Please get me out of here.”
“I’m going to try. Don’t worry. I won’t leave you.”
It was a no-brainer what to try first. The key. She set down the drill and the hammer and fished out the key, fitting it into the lock easily. Sara tried to twist.
No good. The key wouldn’t turn.
She gave it the standard key-jiggle, bumped the door with her shoulder, and tried again.
It worked. Sara pocketed the key and pushed the door open. There didn’t seem to be anyone in the room. Sara saw a bed, a dresser, but no Georgia.
Sara studied the door, and noticed the pneumatic arm at the top. She bent down and jammed the ice pick under the rail so it wouldn’t close automatically, and then stepped inside.
“Georgia?”
Sara glanced behind the door and was met with the shocking image of a Georgia standing there, nude and covered in blood.
“Georgia! Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, now that you’re here.”
Georgia smiled, oddly incongruous with her appearance. Then Sara noticed the bloody scissors in Georgia’s hand.